


Lorne's Team

by mandykaysfic



Series: Lorne's Team [1]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-23
Updated: 2014-01-23
Packaged: 2018-01-09 19:18:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1149811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandykaysfic/pseuds/mandykaysfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teams must train together before their first mission in the Pegasus galaxy. In the gym with Sheppard's team. On the mainland with Stackhouse's team and the Athosians. Diplomacy and Making Trade Agreements with Dr Weir and Teyla. But there's one more requirement in the Pegasus galaxy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lorne's Team

Lorne's team. It had a certain ring to it. More friendly than plain old SG11. On Atlantis, the alpha-numeric designations were for official reports. In the gateroom you only ever heard the names. Sheppard's team. Stackhouse's team. And soon, Lorne's team. It was a hell of a lot more personal. More intimate even. Intimate, like the atmosphere provided by the reds and golds of the room they now occupied for their final training session. Intimate, like his team would be by the end of this. Lorne's hand remained steady as he examined the spreadsheets provided by Dr McKay. It positively did not shake as he considered what was required before their first off-world mission. “So....”

Dr Parrish looked over his shoulder and then picked up one of the sheets and slid into the seat next to Lorne. He ran a finger down one column. “Of the monotheistic planets, four worshiped female gods and two, male gods.”

“They would be goddesses,” put in Reed. “You know, female gods.”

“Three of those cultures devoted to _goddesses_ ,” emphasized Parrish, “required 'spilling of male seed', but only on PX3-122 was that done in public.”

High color stained Coughlin's cheeks as he stammered, “Yes, but we're not required to go back there, are we? I mean, these are places they've already been to and they only require the rituals on the first visit, right?”

“Yes, it's only at the first visit, or at least so far,” added Lorne cautiously. “Sheppard was pretty clear. Short of actual sacrifice, if all it takes is a little effort or embarrassment on our parts to secure technology or trading partners, then we participate in their rituals.” He poured Coughlin a drink, thankful for Sheppard's foresight in providing him with the whiskey. “Just be glad we're getting a chance to work things out now. Imagine being hit with -,” he stabbed a finger at a random cell on the spreadsheet, “archery competition. Okay, bad example. Here's one; removal of all body hair, being painted with traditional spiritual symbols, followed by an offering to twin high priestesses. We're to use this information to work out who amongst ourselves is best suited and in what combination to achieve the most favorable result for Atlantis.”

“But I don't see why --,”

“Sixty-nine percent,” interjected Parrish. “According to McKay's statistics, teams were required to participate in some sort of sexual ritual in sixty-nine percent of the successful first contact missions in the last year. Seventy-two percent of those took place in public, by the way. Of the rest, twelve percent involved feats of strength or endurance and eight percent required some sort of artistic endeavour. They also encountered aphrodisiac pollens on five separate occasions. Beckett has apparently used one of the samples they brought back to produce something better than Viagra. But you're not interested in all that, and you really don't want to know about the times they were captured, tortured or just plain chased off the planet.”

“Sixty-nine percent....” Coughlin's voice trailed off and he held his glass out for a refill. “So when Colonel Sheppard scheduled these two days for us to _get to know one another_ ….” 

“We need to know more than who can most accurately lob balls through hoops or...or produce the best macramé wall hanging,” said Lorne, catching sight of one of the artistic endeavours listed, “and we'll make a better impression if we don't stand around arguing or dithering over who's participating in which ritual.”

“But that means Sheppard, McKay, Ford and Teyla have…. And that we....” Reed closed his eyes.

“McKay did the wall hanging. Sometimes they only had to kiss.” Parrish grinned. He at least seemed to be deriving some humour in the situation as he continued examining the spreadsheets.

Lorne hoped it was just the alcohol that made Reed keep stating the obvious. He been pretty quiet during the week they'd trained on the mainland with Stackhouse's team and some of the Athosians. However in light of what they had ahead of them it wouldn't do to get annoyed with the man. He squelched his mounting exasperation and said firmly, “The rule now is virgins are not permitted on Atlantis gate teams. Therefore, as we are going off world in forty-eight hours there will be no virgins by the time we leave this room. It's different in the Pegasus galaxy, understand? But if you prefer, we'll begin with the easy stuff. Hobbies, sports, that kind of thing. I'll start. Parrish, if would you keep track of the details.”

Quarterback for two years, wrestling in his sophomore year, gymnastics in junior high. Middle distance running, swimming, a few fancy dives in his repertoire. A girlfriend with ambitions to appear on dance reality TV had taught him some moves before dropping him for someone more competent. Painting in a variety of mediums. His mom was a Shakespeare buff so he could recite stuff. He wracked his brain for anything else that may prove useful but came up blank for the moment.

Reed enjoyed tennis, skiing – snow and water – as well as hang gliding, and eventually admitted to being the reigning neighbourhood tiddlywinks champion for three years running. He'd taken to Teyla's beginner stick classes like a duck to water, thanks to a blue belt in karate, and had also joined one of the martial arts groups open to any of the expedition members. He was well-versed in the ancient mythology of a number of cultures, having followed Daniel Jackson's career with interest. Lorne was pleased. It was almost as good as having an anthropologist on his team. His final comment, “I can knit too, so I guess I can tackle a macramé wall hanging if needed,” provoked a hearty laugh from everyone.

Coughlin had also been a quarterback, and prom king it later transpired after a couple more drinks. He sang in his church choir until his voice broke. His grandfather had been an amateur opera singer and he'd inherited a tenor of no mean strength, as those who slept in the same corridor frequently attested. He'd struck up a friendship with Lt. Ford, initially founded on their common interests in guns and explosives and continuing with their shared experiences against the Wraith. If fireworks were needed, then he was the man to consult. He was also ranked the third most accurate shot on base and Lorne welcomed Coughlin's presence on his team.

“Hmm, well, I've never played football, I can't swim and I'm hopeless at tennis. I won't be much use at anything involving feats of strength. I have been rock climbing and spelunking. When I was a kid I wanted to be Robin Hood, so I learnt to fence, and I used to be able to hit the target with an arrow eighty percent of the time, bullseye about half of that. I should practise my archery skills a bit more. I have removed all my body hair in the past, so I have no objection to stepping up for that one. I can also put together a mean flower arrangement.” Parrish paused at the raised eyebrows of his team mates. “An offshoot of the botany and my mother's garden.” A smile played over his features that only Lorne noticed. Lorne's glass was almost at his lips, but he placed his glass carefully on the table in anticipation of Parrish's next comment and he didn't disappoint. “I've got a collection of recipes for hand-made soaps and I cross-dress on weekends.” The last was said at high speed. Reed's choked exclamation was highly satisfactory to both Parrish and Lorne.

“You wear women's clothes?” asked Coughlin somewhat hysterically.

“Not exactly. Robin Hood. Tights. Get it? And for the sake of some edible or medicinal plants and seedlings I'll be more than happy to wear a dress. Come on, you all need to lighten up a bit.” Parrish absently drummed on the table as he considered his teammates. “Look, we could warm up to what we're here to do by playing a drinking game or strip poker or something, or,” he took a breath, “we could just get down to it.” 

Lorne found himself pulled upright and Parrish's mouth plastered over his. If his synapses fired a little more slowly than they would have under mission conditions, it didn't take him too long to get it together and return Parrish's kiss. When Parrish drew back, nodded once in his direction then turned his attention to Reed, Lorne spared a moment to give thanks that SG11's scientist had remained back home. He had lived and breathed naquahdah and his sense of humour had apparently withered shortly after birth; he'd have been completely out of his depth in the Pegasus galaxy. Lorne quirked an eyebrow at Coughlin, whose cheeks were flushed and whose mouth still hung open. “Come on,” he said. 

Coughlin's eyes were wild as he looked over at Parrish and Reed. He poured himself another drink, downed it then stood resolutely and enunciated as clearly as he could manage, “Anything Sheppard's team can do, Lorne's team can do better.”

END.


End file.
